


The final pages of Cullen Rutherfords Journal

by Gowombat83



Series: Cullen and Ygrette [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, Love, Romance, True Love, mum bods are beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:53:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gowombat83/pseuds/Gowombat83
Summary: Cullen completes a journal he's been writing since he met the love of his life, Ygrette. After all this time and everything they've been through, his love and desire for her only continues to grow.





	The final pages of Cullen Rutherfords Journal

These are the last few pages of this journal, and while it’s taken me years to get to the end I find there are still so many things yet to say. More thoughts than space remaining to put them into words. But there is one thing that keeps pulling at me now, a memory, and I want to record it here. It is fitting I think.

I had just made love to a beautiful woman.  She was curled into my side, head resting on my shoulder, the sheet clasped tightly up under her chin. And she was blushing. Not that I didn’t think it was pretty, cute even, but I did think it odd that having just shared such an intimate moment she would now be reluctant to let me see her body. So, I asked. The answer was that she’d rather have me imagine her as perfect, than let the reality spoil the illusion. I was, I have to admit, quite taken aback. Not that she was refusing to let me see the body I had just taken such great delight in, but that she thought it wasn’t perfect and somehow that should matter to me. What is perfection? How did this unearthly beauty beside me, who’d only moments earlier been beneath me, whose soft milky skin I’d caressed, whose silken hair I’d run my fingers through, whose full pink mouth I’d kissed, whose warm centre I’d been welcomed into, and whose sweet sweet sighs upon my ear had evoked such pleasure, not believe she was perfect? I only became more confused as she pointed out each of her flaws, as she saw them; her breasts were not as pert as they’d once been, and one nipple was more oval than round, the white lines across her hips and thighs, the fullness of her bottom, and the softness of her stomach, the dark circles under her eyes…. I couldn’t fathom what I was hearing. Here I am, a scarred and weathered man, uncountable marks from unnumbered battles, hands rough and calloused from wielding weapons and farm tools both, whose nightmares have left me haggard and sleepless, a face split by an errant blow in a long-forgotten brotherly fray, …. all things that she insisted she accepted and even enjoyed, but yet she couldn’t understand that I might possibly feel the same way about her? I slept on that perplexing thought, that she would think the marks of my life upon me were beautiful but her own were somehow shameful.

Needless to say I did not sleep well, and today I’m late to rise. But I have some opinions about the conversation from last night and I hope that in some way this helps.

I love that your nipples are different, like landmarks on a familiar map, in the dark I always know where I am.

I love that when I reach around you, or walk behind you, that your full round buttock fills my hands or wiggles alluringly when you walk.

I love that your tummy is soft, because it carried our children safely until they were ready for the world, and from it you brought them into our arms.

I love your breasts, I always have, but even more so now, because they nourish our children who bring me indescribably joy.

And I love how you care so much for our family, though it sometimes means sleepless nights and long days. But even when you’re tired you smile and you laugh and you kiss me and it all melts away. You glow.

My stripes I earned through pain and chaos and fear, and a lucky shot with a wooden toy sword. But all of yours came by love, and there is nothing more beautiful in the world to me than every inch of you. We are neither of us are the same as when we met all those years ago, bit I believe that with every day we only get better. You’ve given me a life and more happiness than I deserve, and my love for you only continues to grow. That, my wife, is perfection.

 

“Husband!” he heard Ygrette call as he slipped the finished journal under his pillow, “I’m making bread and _your son_ has messed himself. I could use a hand please darling.” Cullen chuckled to himself,

“Coming love,” he called back, as he rose and pulled on his trousers. He found his family in the kitchen, Ygrette elbows deep in flour and dough, and his son sitting by her feet in the protective curl of the mabari’s large paws. Herald was cooing delightedly to himself as he stretched long gooey strands of dog slobber between his chubby fingers. The boy looked up as Cullen entered and his little face grinned wide at the sight of his Da. Cullen laughed and bent to scoop the slimy child up high into the air, and was rewarded with much giggling and squealing.

“Mama says you’ve made a terrible mess,” Cullen said brightly to the boy, holding him high, “It’s just a bit of hound spit Mama, isn’t it?” he bounced the toddler in the air to more giggles.

“Ahh,” Ygrette smiled crookedly at her boys, “is it though?”

Cullen looked at her smirk and drew the boy down for a quick whiff.

“Ooohhh, someone needs a change. Let’s go get cleaned up my boy!” and he whooshed his son around grinning widely and headed down the hall toward the nursery.

“Don’t wake the baby you pair,” Ygrette called, smiling to herself as she ripped the dough into chunks for their supper rolls.

*****

Ygrette was already in bed when Cullen slid under the covers and blew out the last candle on the side table.

“The poor mite was tuckered out,” he said grinning, “no doubt a full day of playing with his dog and aggravating his Mother. He went down almost immediately.” He kissed her hair as she settled into the crook of his arm with a happy sigh.

“Every day is a big day for little boys who like to get into mischief. Thank the Maker he’s always been a good sleeper.”

Cullen hummed contentedly, squeezing his wife closer. The warm scent of her claret curls and the way it tickled on his bare skin sent a shiver through him, and the heat along his side where she lay, the closeness of her began that familiar warm tingle low in his gut. He tilted her face up and pressed a kiss to her upturned mouth, soft at first but rapidly building in hunger. She pulled back to look up at him and recognised that gleam in his eyes. Her answering smile spurred him on. Ygrette shifted to wrap her arms around his neck, and lift herself until she way laying almost on top of him. Cullens hands roved their way under her nightgown, fingers spread wide across her back, holding her to him.

“Cullen, what’s under your pillow?” she queried between kisses.

“Oh,” he reached under his head and drew out the small leather bound book, “It’s a gift. For later.” He said putting it out of her reach on the nightstand. “First…” he growled, his honey gold eyes burning as her grabbed her hips and pulled her up to straddle him. Ygrette laughed low and throaty and he felt it through hum through his middle, stoking his rising lust. Makers breath, would he ever have his fill of her? When every smile, every kiss, and every touch ignited him still, he certainly didn’t think so! He ran his hands slowly up her thighs, over her hips and along her ribs, lifting the hem of the night shirt and revealing her inch by inch as she sat gloriously atop him. Ygrette bit her lip hesitantly, and he couldn’t contain the low hungry growl that rumbled in his chest as he flung the cloth into the darkness, and rolled them into oblivion. He claimed her with as much passion as if it were their first time, as he did every time, to the sweet sounds of her desire on the night.

Much later Cullen awoke to darkness. He’d felt the bed shift as Ygrette rose to tend the hungry cries of their daughter. It was cold, so he rose and went to heat some milk on the hearth for Ygrette to warm her as she nursed. He shuffled down the hall, steaming mug in hand but as he stepped to the nursery door he stopped. His chest squeezed hard, pushing the air out of him in a muffled whoosh. His wife sat in the nursing chair, his tiny daughter bundled close to her breast. His son was sleeping soundly, pink cheeked and open mouthed in the cot beside her as she read his journal in the dim glow of a candle. His family, his beautiful family. In his wildest dreams he’d never dared imagine anything like this for himself.At the small sound of his sigh Ygrette looked up. Her smile was breathtaking, even more so because of the glistening of the tears on her cheeks. In that moment Cullens love for his wife was so intense he felt like any moment he would burst, as if his body couldn’t contain the fullness of his heart. Watching her there among their precious children, seeing the truth of years of his feelings and thoughts of her glowing in her eyes, knowing that she finally understood the depth of his love for her, _this,_ he thought, this was _perfection._


End file.
